


A Little Drop of Poison

by Tomboy13



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Recovery, Support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24573283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomboy13/pseuds/Tomboy13
Summary: Wynonna realises that she can’t keep going as she is.A series of shorts looking at Wynonna getting sober.
Relationships: Minor Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught - Relationship, Waverly Earp & Wynonna Earp, Wynonna Earp & Doc Holliday, Wynonna Earp & Nicole Haught
Comments: 26
Kudos: 49





	1. Day 1

Wynonna opened her eyes a crack, just enough to let the light in. It stung.

Everything hurt. Her entire body felt bruised, her head ached, and her stomach roiled. She dragged her bleary eyes treacle slow across the room, avoiding movement as much as possible, feeling her heart sink when she didn’t recognise the curtains, the baby-blue walls, or the stain on the ceiling over the bed. More troubling, she didn’t recognise the sound of snoring from the other side of the pillow. 

She’d done it again.

Carefully, desperate not to wake the stranger sleeping butt naked next to her, she eased herself out of the bed and onto her feet, blanching in the frigid air. Her clothes were scattered about, but she grabbed what she could find and headed catlike to the door.

The Street was empty; it was barely dawn in early spring and the snow was still hanging on, the pavement underfoot slippy with frost. Wynonna chose a direction and started walking, hating herself with every step. She’d promised herself on Saturday morning, hungover to shit, that she wouldn’t do this again. Wouldn’t get into such a state that she couldn’t remember where she was or who she was, how she got home or with whom she went home. It was now Sunday morning, not 24 hours later, and she could barely remember anything after 10pm.

Turning the corner, she recognised Main Street in the distance, a mild glimmer of hope that she wasn’t miles out of town brightening her face, only to be swallowed by the rush of nausea that had her scrambling to the gutter and emptying her stomach of sour yellow bile. 

Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Wynonna straightened up, ignoring a tutting older man who stepped around her puke with a disgusted expression. “I can’t do this anymore.” She whispered to herself, hardly recognising her own voice, raspy and forlorn.

It was still early by the time she got to the Homestead, the watery light that had followed her on the long stagger from town making the prairies seem tranquil and ethereal, the beauty inexplicably adding to her guilt. She’d been offered a few rides as she stumbled still drunk down the road from Purgatory and towards the familiar rutted track that would lead her to her bed, but she’d turned them down. She knew where that could lead and couldn’t face a fight, not when her limbs felt like jelly and the weight of nameless grief was making her sluggish.

_Wynonna has Lived a Life_ , Gus had once said wanly in one of her kinder moments, and Wynonna knew that it was true. The elder Earp’s wild youth had lived up to the moniker; she’d travelled to exotic places, mixing with interesting and, often, dangerous people, and grabbed every experience that came her way with both hands. What she knew now though, at 31, was that while people talked about the glory of a youth running free, they rarely talked about the scars it left behind. Staring at the distant mountains, the ever-present snow on top glowing slightly pink in the morning light, Wynonna thought of Alice, her baby girl now growing up under her aunt’s loving care, and wondered how she ever thought she could deserve something so pure, when she had so much badness curdling inside of her.

The Homestead was quiet, Waverly’s Jeep next to the barn and Nicole’s cruiser parked close behind. Wynonna fumbled for her keys, searching each pocket in increasing desperation before accepting with a curse that she had lost them. Feeling hollow and cold, she clawed at the heavy concrete plant pot next to the stoop, tipping it back until her fingers settled on the cold metal of the spare key.

The house was warm, the heat still radiating from the stove suggesting that the two love-birds had had a late night; the air smelled of the sweet sap of ageing wood and Waverly’s ever-present incense. It was comfortable and familiar, something like family and home, and it made Wynonna’s heart break in her chest.

She made it two steps before sinking onto her knees in the hallway, letting her hangover and melancholy overcome her, slumping into herself as all the pain and hatred and shame tore away the bindings that had been holding her together. The tears made her vision blurry, and it was with a shock that she realised the guttural noise she’d been hearing was pouring fourth from her own throat, a moaning howl that sounded more animal than human. Feeling panicked, Wynonna clamped her hand over her mouth, but she could still hear it, albeit muffled and quietened.

She didn’t notice the soft padding of her sister’s dancer-light footsteps, didn’t even register that she was no longer alone until she felt arms wrapping around her, pulling her closer into Waverly’s habitual earthy scent.

“Shhhh, shhhh, what’s happened?” The younger Earp asked, rocking slightly on the balls of her feet in a soothing motion. Not feeling like she deserved it, but craving comfort nonetheless, Wynonna allowed herself to slump into her sister’s arms; she hated crying, hated any show of perceived weakness, but the tears wouldn’t stop, coming now in great wrenching sobs that left her breathless and unable to speak. 

Taking huge, gulping breaths, she managed to stutter, “I c-can’t s-stop.”

“Can’t stop what, Nona?” Waverly asked kindly, awkwardly settling onto her knees and squeezing the shivering body in her embrace a little tighter.

“D-drinking.” Wynonna huffed out, snot and tears mingling on her face. 

“Oh.” Waverly said, unsure of how to respond.

“I keep saying I’ll stop and then I just go right back to it.” Wynonna blurted, wiping at the dampness on her face with both hands. “I just _can’t stop_. What the hell is wrong with me?”

“It’s ok, Wynonna.” Waverly tried to reason. “I know you like a drink but you’re not like _an alcoholic_ or anything.” 

Wynonna snorted ungracefully, her crying finally subsiding as she eased herself into seated position, knees hugged to her chest. Waverly leaned back, but didn’t move away, her hands wiping gently at her sister’s face, brushing Wynonna’s hair behind her ears.

“What if I am, though?” The older sister asked after a minute, looking at her sister with tired, grief-stricken eyes. “I mean, I don’t think I am but I definitely have a-a-a...problem.”

“Ok,” Waverly nodded slowly, pursing her lips, “then you have a drinking problem. And we work through it.”

“You make it sound easy.” Wynonna said, her voice laden with uncertainty. 

Waverly shook her head, resting a heavy arm around her sisters shoulders. “It’s not easy, it’s not going to be easy, but I know we can get you through it. Together.” 

Wynonna looked at her sister, and the look of determination on her pretty, young face. She still felt awash with confused, painful, angry feelings, but something in that look quelled them slightly. _She believes in you_ , the Heir realised with a start. _Now you just need to believe in you, too._

“Together.” Wynonna sniffled, trying to inject her voice with a confidence she didn’t really feel.

“Always. But right now, let’s get you into bed.” Waverly said, heaving her sister up off the floor with a huff.

It wasn’t until she was in bed with the door closed and a pint glass of water on the bedside table, that Wynonna allowed herself to appreciate the gravity of what had happened. She’d spoken the words that she’d been mulling over out loud, and in doing so, she’d made them real, given them a form that she’d allowed her little sister to see. There was no denying it now, no turning away from the fact that for her, the drink had become a demon she couldn’t vanquish with a well timed bullet and a quip. 

Still feeling groggy, she slowly dragged herself up onto her elbows, before reaching into her bedside table. It took some searching, but eventually she found what she was looking for - a small, red pocket diary. Waverly brought her one every New Year, and every December, it went into the bin unused. Squinting to see through the stale alcohol haze, Wynonna turned to the right day, scribbling in slow, shaky letters. Then, unceremoniously, she collapsed back, letting sleep and bone-tiredness overtake her.

On the bed next to her, the diary stood open, two words written large across the 4th April: _Day 1_


	2. Day 7

The kitchen was quiet, the sound of the ticking clock making the air seem heavy with boredom. Wynonna sat at the table, a recently shuffled pack of cards in front of her, trying to ignore the timepiece on the wall that read 8:15pm and the sensation that each tick was slicing dull, weighted seconds away from the meat of her life. On a normal Saturday, she’d be two sheets to the wind by 8pm, but instead she was sat in her own house playing children’s card games and drinking glass after glass of overly-sweet lemonade. As hard as she tried not to, Wynonna couldn’t help but think of it as a kind of strange and unusual punishment. Across from her, Purgatory’s resident Sheriff was eagerly explaining the rules of another half-baked game, blissfully unaware of the agonies that her playmate was going through.

“Ok, so it’s called Strip Jack Naked, and it’s a lot of fun.” Nicole said in her no-nonsense way, eyes lit with overt enthusiasm. Wynonna regarded her dispassionately, barely restraining an eye roll.

“Strip what?” She asked with a half-stifled yawn. 

“Strip Jack Naked.” Nicole clarified, tapping at the deck of cards with one long finger. “You put one card down at a time until someone puts down a picture-“

“I don’t think your girlfriend is going to enjoy coming home to find either of us _stripped_.” Wynonna said with a hint of venom in her voice. Nicole wrinkled her nose.

“Everyone keeps their clothes on, OK, it’s just the name of the game.”

Wynonna raised her eyebrows with a sigh, glancing again at the clock, alarmed to see that the time hadn’t changed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nicole frown, and felt a pang of guilt.

In the 7 days since she’d confessed her problem, both Waverly and Nicole had been nothing but supportive; Waverly for her part had barely let an hour go by without checking in, and Nicole had given an unbelievably uncomfortable speech offering unwavering support and a comforting shoulder that had ended in the world’s most awkward hug, both women stiff and unwilling to make eye contact. Wynonna knew she should be grateful, it was just…hard. She’d always felt like the black sheep, and now, with her every move under review, she couldn’t help but feel it 10 times over. When Waverly had announced that she had to spend Saturday with Chrissy, to help the woman through a bad breakup, Wynonna had been secretly thrilled at the thought of a night on her own. When Nicole had arrived 5 minutes before Waverly left however, arms full of board games and snacks, Wynonna could have flipped the table. She felt penned in, and resentful, and by Christ she needed a drink.

“Look, Wynonna, I know this is difficult-“ Nicole began, palms stretched out flat on the table top. Wynonna recognised the voice as the meditative one she used on towns folk who were fighting over something petty, like parking rights or who should maintain a fence, and her heckles were instantly raised.

“No, you don’t.” Wynonna snapped, bitterness lying heavy in her tone, blue eyes staring unblinking at her friend. “You have no idea what it’s like.”

Nicole bit her lip, and Wynonna could tell she was trying to hold back _firm but fair_ Nicole in favour of _calm and caring_ Nicole. “Well,” the redhead said through gritted teeth, “why don’t you tell me? It might help to get it out in the open.”

Wynonna snorted, shaking her head. “Yeah, right. Cause talking to a copper always does you so much good. You’re basically therapists with guns.”

“Fine, we’ll just sit here in silence until Waverly comes home.” Nicole said curtly, folding her arms.

“Fine.” Wynonna agreed, huffing.

The clock ticked 17 times. “You don’t have to babysit me, Haught. I’m a big girl.” The Earp growled.

“I’m not babysitting you, Wynonna.” Nicole said, running an exasperated hand through her shorn red hair. “I’m trying to help.”

“I don’t need _help_ , I need to be left alone.” Wynonna took a swig from her glass, wincing at the taste. “And a god damn drink that doesn’t taste like sugary shit.” A wave of anger washed over her, and she strode to the sink, throwing the offending liquid down the drain. “This is hell.”

“Yeah, it is.” Nicole said bluntly, clearly done with the mollycoddling. “And its going to be for a while yet, so why don’t you stop being an ass and let us take care of you?”

Wynonna heaved a sigh, turning to face the cop and leaning against the sink, looking more like a sulky teenager than a full grown woman. Unbidden, her attention drifted to the top of the fridge where the bottles of liquor lived. Nicole followed her gaze. “Oh for Pete’s sake.” The Sheriff grumbled, climbing to her feet and moving to grab the nearest bottle. “I’m pouring this away.”

“Don’t!” Wynonna hissed, jumping forwards and snatching the half-full bottle of bourbon from Nicole’s hand. Carefully, she replaced it on top of the refrigerator. “Leave them.”

“Wynonna, it isn’t healthy for a recovering addict to have them in the house.“ Nicole’s eyes went wide. “I didn’t mean that how it came out.” She said quickly, hands open in supplication. “I just don’t want you torturing yourself, or tempting yourself. I want to make this as easy as possible.”

Wynonna swallowed. “I know, I get it. I just…need them.”

“Why?” Nicole asked without a shred of malice.

Wynonna mumbled something, the words catching in her throat out of pure embarrassment. 

“What?” Nicole stepped closer. “I can’t hear.”

“Ugh, god. Ok.” Wynonna huffed petulantly, shoving her hands into the tight pockets of her jeans. “I said I just need to know I can do this with them there. That I can be sober even though the temptation is right in front of me.”

Nicole frowned. “Wynonna, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I know.” The Earp heir said with a shrug. “I’m going to do it anyway.”

Nicole looked at the booze for a long moment, and then back to her friend, who was pouting at her with the eager, hopeful expression that had gotten them into so much trouble over the years. She exhaled. “Fine.”

Wynonna bounced on the spot, excited to have gotten her own way.

“On one condition.” Nicole continued with a raised finger. The bouncing stopped. “You have got to find something to do outside of this house that isn’t work. You can’t sit in here all the time with nothing but these bottles and not expect to just roll right off the wagon.”

Wynonna groaned, tilting her head back theatrically to stare at the ceiling. “Why is there always a catch with the feds.”

Nicole ignored the jibe. “Come running with me tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Come running with me next week.”

“ _No_.” Wynonna enunciated slowly.

“Why do you always have to be so difficult?” Nicole asked rhetorically. Their relationship over the years had evolved from partial enemies, to partial friends, to BFFs, but the bickering had remained a staple, and neither woman took much offence to it. “Fine, at least play the fricking card game with me.”

“N-“ Wynonna started, stopping when Nicole marched away and sat down pointedly in a kitchen chair, already dealing out the cards. “God, Jesus, OK. You’re so needy. Are all lesbians like this?”

“Ask your sister.” Nicole said, without looking up.

“Ask your sister.” Wynonna mimicked in a sing song voice, sauntering over to take a seat. “You know, that’s not very PC of you, Nicole. Waverly is bisexual.”

Nicole raised an eyebrow, picking up her cards and ignoring her friend's words. “I’ll start. You’re going _down_.”

“That’s what she-“

“Not what I meant, Wynonna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strip Jack Naked is an actual card game, and it really is a lot of fun.


	3. Day 21

After twenty-one long days, Wynonna could confirm with total honesty that she didn’t regret going sober. Sure, she missed the drink still – felt pangs for it that were almost physical, sometimes – and she certainly didn’t like the constant dodging of questions from her friends about why she wasn’t at Shorty’s anymore or why she was drinking coke instead of beer, but underneath it all she was glad to be, if not free, then at least a little less fuzzy. It had been a revelation after spending most of her adult life enjoying all the bottle had to offer to wake up fresh in the morning, ready to face the day without a throbbing head or roiling stomach. She’d taken to getting breakfast at the diner before work, rather than rolling in just before lunch demanding coffee and fried goods to line her delicate guts. She’d started drinking water _voluntarily_. No, for all the struggle she didn’t regret trying for sobriety. 

What she did regret, Wynonna mused as she hovered awkwardly outside of the Sheriff’s Offices in a pair of brand spanking new running shoes while the dawn chill eased around her, was stopping Willa from shooting Nicole Haught dead all those years ago.

“Ready?” A brisk, cheerful voice chirped from behind her.

“Not particularly.” Wynonna gritted out, not even turning her eyes to look at the Sheriff as she practically skipped out of the main entrance, her uniform discarded in favour of some basketball shorts and a tight tank top. She looked much too cheerful for someone finishing a night shift in a dishwater town like Purgatory, Wynonna thought bitterly

“We’ll start with some stretches-“ Nicole began, abruptly cutting off as she saw the permanently simmering anger flare in her friend’s blue eyes. “Or a light pace to warm up will be fine.”

Wynonna glared at the watery sun creeping above the mountains, begrudgingly admitting that at least this attempt at fitness was outside; she’d let Waverly coax her into a yoga session in the school gym one terrible, terrible Tuesday. The exercises had been fine if a little embarrassing, but when the teacher with the calming Downton Abbey accent had tried to lead a group meditation, Wynonna had noped the hell out. She loved her sister and she’d do nearly anything for her, but she drew the line at chakras. 

“Ready?” Nicole asked brightly, already beginning a light jog up the road. Wynonna heaved a sigh and forced her leaden feet to follow. 

_This isn’t so bad_ , she thought with a flicker of a smile as the torpor of sleep was shaken loose, speeding up slightly as they rounded the corner, the breeze making her skin tingle while her heart picked up a fast rhythm in her chest. Nicole grinned, matching each of Wynonna’s steps so that they moved more like a machine than two independent bodies. It felt good, Wynonna grinned uncharacteristically. A bit wild, and a bit crazy, just like her.

Half a mile in, and she realised her mistake. She was sweating and panting, her legs heavy and stiff, her chest taught. “wha’ ‘ell.” she gasped.

“What?” Nicole frowned, looking worried as she trotted at a slow walking pace alongside the Earp Heir.

“What – the - HELL.” Wynonna managed between ragged breaths. She knew that since her months training daily with Dolls she’d lost some stamina, swallowed up by long sleepless nights and whiskey, but she hadn’t realised how much. _Running can get fuc-_ she thought angrily, before her frantic gaze landed on a leaflet, tacked haphazardly to a telegraph pole.

Stopping short, Wynonna didn’t notice Nicole carry on thundering down the pavement a few paces, before realising she was alone. “Wynonna!” She hissed, throwing her arms in the air. Wynonna ignored her, stepping closer to the shiny paper flapping in the breeze. She narrowed her eyes.

“What is it?” Nicole asked grumpily, stomping over to where the brunette was staring at the telegraph pole with the unwavering intent that had made her such a formidable foe for the Revenants of the Ghost River Triangle. Nicole herself had occasionally been on the receiving end of that steel-hard focus, in the early days of her relationship with Waverly, before they became close enough in their own right that their mutual distrust had melted into something akin to fondness. It almost made her sympathetic to the hundreds of demons and ghouls for whom that icy stare had been the last thing they’d ever seen. Leaning closer, she squinted over the other woman’s shoulder. “Women’s Boxing Classes.” Nicole pursed her lips, nodding slowly. “Mm. Should have thought of that sooner, to be honest.”

Wynonna smirked. “Come to mama.” She quipped, quickly ripping the flyer from its moorings and tucking it into the slightly damp confines of her sports bra. “Well Haught, I think you’ve got this. If you need me, I’ll be in the diner. Chop chop.”

Nicole shook her head as her friend sashayed away, and ran on.

Wynonna was on her third cup of black coffee, watching through the grimy window as the street filled up with Saturday morning shoppers, when Nicole ambled through the door with a tinkle of the bell and slumped into the seat opposite.

“Now, wasn’t that fun?” Wynonna asked sweetly, taking a bite of her pastry.

“Tremendous.” Nicole scowled. “Would have been better if my sister-in-law had held up her end of the bargain.”

“I ran.” Wynonna shrugged nonchalantly.

“For five minutes.” 

“That’s still _running_ , Haught-pants.” Wynonna said with a roll of her eyes. The waitress wandered over, eyeing Nicole’s body glistening with perspiration with a mix of disgust and attraction. Oblivious, Nicole ordered a latte and a fruit salad. “She’ll have it to go.” Wynonna cut in as the young woman walked away, her smile fake and saccharine. Nicole pulled a face. “I have a thing.”

“Ok?” Nicole said with raised eyebrows. 

“I just…need to be home by 10:30.” Wynonna huffed.

“Why? What kind of thing is it?” Nicole leaned forwards, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Is it a spooky demonic kind of thing?”

“No.” Wynonna responded flatly.

“Serial killer? Witch? Poltergeist?” Nicole’s eagerness died on her face. “Oh god, you haven’t got a man coming over have you?”

“Jesus, no. Its just a thing.” At Nicole’s disbelieving expression, Wynonna waved her hands. “A thing, a thing, ok?”

Nicole nodded slowly, a small smile on her lips. “Ok, that’s fine. You don’t want to tell me.” Her hand sneaked under the table and re-emerged holding her phone; Wynonna’s eyes tracked the movement suspiciously. 

“What are you doing?” she asked after a moment of quiet, craning to try and see Nicole’s fingers dancing over the screen.

“Asking Waverly.” Nicole said happily, playing her ace.

“No!” Wynonna hissed, her hand shooting out to grab the iPhone. Nicole jerked it out of her friend’s reach, blinking expectantly. “Christ, _fine_. Its an alcoholics thing, ok?”

“Oh.” Nicole said sheepishly, placing her phone down on the sticky table with a click. “My bad.”

“No its fine, I just don’t want Waves to know yet. In case it doesn’t work out.” Wynonna sighed.

“So is someone coming to the Homestead or…”

“God no.” Wynonna scoffed. “Its this online support group, they meet every Saturday.”

“Why didn’t you just go to the AA meeting? They seem friendly enough.” Nicole asked gently.

Wynonna looked at her BFF as if she had begun speaking in tongues. “Exactly, doofus. They meet literally next door to my place of work. It’d be all over town before you can say _cheap biscuits_. No, thank you.”

Nicole nodded understandingly. They sat in silence until the waitress dropped Nicole’s order off at the table. “If it doesn’t work out with the online group,” the Sheriff said carefully as they walked out to where the Earp’s battered old truck was parked, diagonal and half up the curb, “I can always drive you the next town over to their meeting.”

“Yeah, maybe. We’ll see.” Wynonna answered gruffly, jumping into the driver’s seat with a grunt. “See you later, Haught-Shot.”

“Later, Earp.” Nicole said, wincing at the spray of dust the vehicle threw up as it careered away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wynonna & Nicole bromance for life.


	4. Day 32

“Ok cutie, we’ll see you at seven thirty. I love you. No, _I_ love you. I love you more.” Waverly chirped, her face scrunched up in a smile as she skipped out of the kitchen.

Wynonna rolled her eyes dramatically, fixing the screen in front of her with a ‘help me’ stare. On the laptop, her companion laughed.

“Is she always like that?” Sarah, Wynonna’s sponsor, asked with a frown. Wynonna liked Sarah. They’d met in a Facebook group for recovering addicts (Wynonna had forced Jeremy to set her up an account under a different name, the hapless scientist shrinking lower and lower in his seat with every suggestion he offered to make her profile more ‘approachable’); they’d quickly bonded over an acerbic sense of humour and no-holds barred attitude to tough love. Sarah was a 52 year old black woman who lived in Toronto and did something fancy with finance, but she spoke with an openness that didn’t match the corporate attire she often wore on their weekly video calls, and Wynonna appreciated that. 

“All damn day.” Wynonna huffed. “Its worse when the girlfriend is here. Its like watching fucking fanfiction in real time.”

Sarah snorted. “Gross.”

“Tell me about it. They’re taking me for dinner tonight to celebrate my first month.” Wynonna glanced away from the screen, feeling suddenly vulnerable at the thought of her sister’s pride. It had been all she could do to stop the younger woman organising a full-on party. “Don’t know what for.”

“Hey,” the woman on the screen said, leaning in so that her glasses caught the light of the LEDs, “don’t do that. Don’t beat yourself up over what went before. You’ve done good. You deserve to be proud of yourself.”

Wynonna gave a half shoulder shrug. “I guess.”

Sarah pointed a manicured finger at the camera. “I know. Don’t make me fly over there, Earp.”

“Promises, promises.” The white woman snarked, smirking into the screen. Sarah laughed, settling back into her seat.

“So are they taking you somewhere nice at least?” 

“The Italian place in town.” Wynonna gave the thumbs up. “It’s fancy. They have breadsticks and three kinds of wine.”

“Which you won’t be enjoying.” Sarah said, raising an eyebrow.

“Which I won’t be enjoying.” Wynonna sighed. Behind the camera came the sound of a baby crying, shrill, mournful shrieks making both women wince.

“That’s my queue. Lady Jane is awake. Remember, be proud and don’t touch the damn wine.” 

“Yes boss.” Wynonna gave a fake salute, while on the screen the image froze and then went dark.

“Was that Sarah?” Waverly asked, bustling into the kitchen, and pointing at the battered old laptop that Wynonna had stolen from work. 

“Yep, sure was. Same as every week.” 

“Is everything ok?” Waverly asked, looking mildly concerned. Wynonna held in a frown, hating that her sister assumed the worse but understanding why, when her track record left so much to be desired.

“Fine. Just a catch up. So is everything sorted for tonight?”

“Yep, Nicole has booked the table and is going to pick us up at seven thirty. Are you sure you don’t want me to invite the others?” Waverly was at the kitchen sink, filling a reusable bottle with water, so she didn’t see her sister pull a face.

“No, not at all, absolutely not.” The older Earp hissed, slamming her hands palm down onto the table for emphasis. 

Waverly turned around at the sound, a look of resignation on her face. “Are you sure you don’t just want to tell them? They’ll understand, Nonna.”

“I’m not ready.” Wynonna said, shifting awkwardly in her seat. “I’m not ready for everyone knowing my business.”

“I just think the longer this goes on, the more people are going to notice.” Waverly pulled a face. “The boxing, the sodas, the skipping Shorty’s after work.”

“Look,” Wynonna snapped, “I’ll tell them when I’m good and ready. God, Waverly, stop pressurising me.”

The younger woman rolled her eyes good naturedly. This was an argument they’d been having for weeks, and she knew well when to cut her losses. “Fine. I’m going to class. Try and behave and I’ll see you later.” She pressed a kiss to the top of her sister’s head, before grabbing her yoga mat and skipping out of the front door. 

Wynonna exhaled as she watched her go. She knew she was a little harsh on Waverly, but the truth was, the thought of Doc, Jeremy, or anyone else in their rag-tag town finding out that she was trying for sobriety was horrifying. Part of it had to do with embarrassment, but the major sticking point was painfully simple: failure. She couldn’t stand the thought of telling everyone only to fall off the wagon and, once again, show herself as a disappointment. The fewer people that knew the better.

Opening the internet browser and navigating to Nicole’s ‘borrowed’ Netflix account, Wynonna chose a show at random and, laptop in hand, moved to the living room, settling herself on the couch for an afternoon of mindless streaming. She’d barely put her feet up before there was a knocking from the front porch. Wynonna growled.

“Damn it, baby girl, did you forget your keys again?” She grumped, striding over and wrenching the front door open

“I fear I am not who you were expecting.” Doc twinkled from the stoep, his sunglasses halfway down his nose and his blue eyes shining. 

“Nope.” Wynonna said shortly, folding her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “What brings you this way?”

Doc shrugged. “I haven’t seen you in a while and I thought it best to pop in, to check you are well.”

Wynonna nodded slowly, eyes searching the vampire’s face. Their relationship had changed over the years, but their closeness hadn’t, in spite of the many pitfalls and wobbles they’d forded along the way. If there was one thing she knew about John Henry Holliday, it was that he didn’t call without a purpose. “You’d best come in then, cowboy.”

They walked through to the shabby kitchen, and Wynonna gestured half heartedly to a kitchen chair. Doc placed his perennial hat on the table before sitting, casual and confident. “Can I get you some water? Coffee?” Her eyes flicked to the bottles atop the fridge. “Whiskey?”

Doc looked at her with his timeless, knowing eyes that hinted at the numerous lifetimes he’d lived. “Coffee will be just fine, thank ya’.”

Wynonna released a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding and set about making a pot. When it was on the stove, she turned once again to face her friend, only to find him watching her with a kindness that still made her skin prickle. 

“So how have you been, Wynonna?”

“Good. Great.” Wynonna said, leaning against the countertop and shoving her hands in her jean pockets. “You?”

“Oh, fine.” Doc shrugged, bringing a hand up to stroke his moustache. “Worried about you, as it happens.”

“Nothing to worry about.” The woman said quickly. “I’m all good.”

“I am pleased to hear it. You look well. Different.” Doc continued, unblinking. “Healthier.”

Wynonna sucked the inside of her cheeks, her lips pursing. “Don’t know why. I’m the same old me.”

Doc chuckled, but it was a kind sort of sound, free of malice or banter. “No, you’re not. I can smell it on you. Or rather, I can’t smell it on you.”

“Ok, firstly, that’s creepy, stop doing that. And secondly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The gunslinger nodded, barely perceptible. “I will not push you to tell me, Wynonna. But I want you to know, I am so very, very proud of you. It’s a stronger person than I ever was that looks their demons in the eye and goes to war with them.”

Wynonna glanced out of the dirty window, across the yard and into the fields beyond. She pictured three little girls, running as fast as they could through the long grass, the smallest carried on the middle child’s back to save her little legs. In her mind’s ear, she could hear their laughter. She wondered what that girl would think of the woman she had become. Exhaling a long sigh, Wynonna turned her attention back to her guest, who was rapping his long fingers on the tabletop. “Don’t go going soft on me, Doc.”

The vampire smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it, little lady.”

Wynonna snorted. “Little lady.” She teased. “Say, what are you up to later?”

Next to her, the percolator began to hiss, releasing its steam.


	5. Day 182

Wynonna looked her reflection in the eye, and felt angry tears clawing to get out. It had been six dry months to the day – 182 days of drinking squash instead of beer and tip toeing around boozy invitations from well meaning acquaintances, of facing past regrets and a future laden with sober promise. She was a different woman. Everyone said it. So there was no reason that she should have this anxiety bubbling in her chest, climbing like a scream into her throat, at the thought of one night at the bar. 

Wynonna swallowed, adjusting her red, low slung top so that it French tucked into her skinny jeans, under the thick brown belt. In the mirror, her image copied and for a second, she wasn’t looking at Wynonna _now_ , but at the woman a lifetime ago who woke in a stranger’s bed and vomited her shame into the street.

“Nonna?” A small, worried sounding voice sounded on the other side of the door.

“One second!” Wynonna called, sniffing, and taking a deep breath. She could do this, for Waverly. Flushing the toilet to cover up her prolonged absence and spraying a squirt of the perfume that lived in the mismatch collection of toiletries above the bath, she nodded at the stranger in the mirror. Then, steadying herself, she opened the door. “Hey birthday girl, you ready to go?”

Waverly nodded, but Wynonna could see the nervousness in her pretty face and the way her fingers were twining together, as though trying to wring whatever the issue was out of her skin. 

“Baby girl, what is it?”

Waverly frowned, and then hesitantly asked, “Wynonna, are you sure you want to do this?”

Wynonna blinked. “Of course. I’m not missing my baby sister’s birthday drinks for shit. What’s eating you up?”

“I just…” Waverly glanced away, down the corridor towards the stairs. The sound of Nicole channel hopping between the music stations, quietly humming along to the songs, drifted up pleasantly. “I don’t want it to be hard for you to be in the saloon, surrounded by all that liquor and drunks. I’ll understand if you want to stay home. I’ll stay with you. Cole can go pick us up a pizza, she won’t mind.”

There it was. The opportunity to excuse herself. To grab another night in the safe four walls of the Homestead rather than face the town – rather than face her own personal torture. One look at Waverly made up her mind. The youngest Earp was dressed up to the nines, in a soft, shimmering grey sheath dress that hugged her in a velveteen embrace, her soft golden-brown hair falling in carefully styled waves and her makeup artfully finished. She looked every inch the birthday belle, and Wynonna was damned if she would take that away from her.

“Waverly, look at us. We are too hot to handle and we are not going to waste that on another night of Netflix and grease.” Wynonna scoffed, placing her hands on her sister’s uncertain shoulders, and directing her to the stairs. “Let’s go remind this town how the Earp sisters handle things.”

“Are you _sure_?” Waverly asked as she descended. From her place on the settee, Nicole looked up, her expression brightening in the stomach-turning fashion of lovers everywhere.

“Me? Babe, I’m sex on legs and I’m ready to let everyone know it. You can’t contain this kind of raw animal magnetism.” Wynonna grinned gesturing obscenely at her body. Waverly giggled, either at her sister’s pronouncement or the way the Sheriff's smile froze in place at the words. “You ready Haught-shot?”

Nicole’s face was a grimace, but she nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

The drive was over quickly, taken up in a flurry of laughter and Waverly excitedly rambling about the trip to Tobermory that Nicole had booked as a surprise for the following summer, the radio playing the 90s dance tunes that Nicole loved and Wynonna loved to torment her over. 

It wasn’t until they were already pushing the doors to Shorty’s open that the panic set in. The smell was as familiar as her own skin, a mix of cheap aftershave, stale booze, and men, and yet it caught her by surprise. She stood stupidly just inside the door, Waverly already distractedly winding herself through the Saturday night crowd to where their friends were cheering her name.

“You good, Earp?” Nicole asked, standing next to the brunette with her hands resting on her belt in the Officer Haught stance she used when she was being serious. Her brown eyes were on the bar, never once looking at the woman next to her, but after years of friendship, Wynonna knew that the red head was watching her for any sign of discomfort.

“Yeah, of course.” Wynonna snorted, striding forwards with a bravado she didn’t really feel. Nicole bit her lip, and swaggered after her.

“Wynonna! Nickyyyy!” Jeremy shrieked when he saw them, clearly already tipsy. Next to him, Robin was smiling fondly, an empty wine glass in his hand. 

“Two-Pints. Robin.” Wynonna greeted with a firm nod. “Chrissy.”

“Hey Wynonna.” Chrissy Nedley said, slightly wooden. Their already scant relationship hadn’t really recovered from the ridiculous time that the blonde had kidnapped Waverly, but they were polite for the sake of their mutual interest.

“Drinks for my _favourite_ patrons and specifically my favourite birthday girl.” Doc quipped, presenting a tray laden with glasses with a flourish. The group hollared, with the exception of Wynonna, who eyed the bottle pushed into her hands with a sinking heart. She thought Doc had understood, but here was the proof that he had not; condensation dribbled down the green glass, inviting, and for an awful second she wasn’t sure she had the will power to put the beer back on the tray.

“Alcohol free. For the look of it.” The vampire whispered, close to her ear. Wynonna started, not having realised that he had moved so close until she felt his breath on her. He winked, and was gone, leaving Wynonna to look curiously at the label. She took a sip, running the liquid over her taste buds. 

“Not bad.” She muttered with a nod. When she looked up, Waverly was eyeing her with a non-judgmental curiosity. Tilting the bottle so the younger woman could see, she smiled. She could definitely do this.

“SHOTS!” A shout came, and in front of her another, smaller, tray appeared laden with aniseed-smelling shots.

At her elbow, Waverly threw Jeremy a glare that would have melted a sober man in shame. But Jeremy wasn’t sober, and the shouts of approval from the majority of the group did nothing but spur him on, pushing a small glass of clear liquid into Robin and Chrissy’s hands, before presenting one to Waverly with a deep bow. “M’lady.” He slurred. He passed one to Nicole, who accepted it warily, but when she tired to snatch the last free glass on its way to Wynonna, the small man jerked it back and out of reach. “No Nicky, this is for my old pal Wynonna.”

“I don’t think she wants it.” Nicole gritted out, trying to eyeball him into handing it over. 

“Sure she does!” Jeremy laughed loudly, as though that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. “Wynonna loves drinking! Right? Wynonna? You loveee the sambuca, right?”

“I’m good.” Wynonna said sternly, feeling all the eyes on her boiling her skin. Around them, some of the locals were taking an interest in the scene, drawn by Jeremy’s increasingly loud volume and the possibility of fresh Earp drama. All the while, Wynonna’s blue eyes followed the drink sloshing appetizingly in her friend’s hand as he waved it around. She suddenly felt parched. She swallowed thickly. 

Jeremy pulled a confused face. “It’s just a shot. Drink the shot with us – its Waverly’s birthday. Why don’t you-“

“Jesus Christ, man, I don’t want the fucking shot!” Wynonna shouted, reaching her limit. “I’ve got a drink problem, ok? Stop trying to force me to drink!”

It felt, in the seconds that followed, as though half the bar went silent, although in hindsight she’d realise that it was the humiliation that made her see it as such, the din of chatter and country rock drowning out her words. In that moment, she didn’t stay to check, slamming her fake-beer bottle down on the bar and stomping away into the quiet of the ladies’ toilets.

The toilets were empty, and the heavy door blocked out the sound of the barroom. Feeling a flush of anger, Wynonna growled and viciously kicked the small bin across the room, tissues and detritus exploding over the floor. Breathing heavily, she leaned against the sinks, once again staring at her reflection. Her eyes were filled with treacherous tears. “Fucking drunk.” She whispered, trying to control her emotions.

“Wynonna?” In the mirror, Waverly hovered in the doorway, looking impossibly sad.

“What, Waverly?” Wynonna asked, wiping her eyes on the back of her wrist.

“I’m sorry.” Wynonna snapped her gaze up, staring at her sister in the glass. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” Waverly repeated.

Wynonna turned slowly, leaning back against the cold porcelain. “What the hell are you apologising for?”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come. It’s too much.”

“Baby girl, listen to me.” Wynonna said, her voice brooking no argument. “I wanted to come out tonight. I wanted to celebrate my little sister’s birthday and to see my friends. I’m just…frustrated, I guess. That I can’t be normal, and that everyone knows it. But that’s on me, ok? That’s not on you.”

Waverly nodded, but looked unconvinced. “Do you want me to ask Nic to take you home?”

Wynonna narrowed her eyes, letting her gaze drift to the small window where the night was pressing in. From the saloon, a bawdy cheer sounded. “Not at all.” She said, surprised to realise it was true. “You don't get rid of me so easily, you know that." She hesitated. "I’m going to beat this thing, Waves, and right now? Right now, we’re going to go out there and enjoy your birthday like the world ends at midnight.”

Waverly smiled a watery smile. “You positive?”

Wynonna stood up, fixing her clothes before slinging an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Damn straight. Now, I saw the Rawson brothers on the pool table on the way in – they’re just asking for an ass whooping. Let your big sister remind you how it’s done.”

Laughing, the pair pulled up short as soon as the door opened to reveal a swaying Jeremy, standing close enough to the entrance that they almost walked right into him.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Wynonna cursed. Her eyes homed in on his left hand where a small glass was being gripped tightly, full to the brim with orange liquid. “Damn it Jeremy, I said no more shots.”

The young man nodded sagely, his eyes half closed. “I got you a special one to say sorry.” He leaned in close, and continued in a stage whisper, “Its orange juice, but don’t tell anyone.”

Wynonna blinked down at the glass, then up at her friend. He was smiling dazedly, and she couldn’t find it in herself to hold onto the annoyance bubbling in her stomach; it would have been like kicking a puppy. She took the shot of juice and knocked it back. Then she placed a companionable hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Say, Jer, how do you feel about pool? Specifically, playing for money?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the 'alcohol-free' issue is controversial, but I've included it here because 'alcohol-free' fake-beer has been a helpful tool on my own sober journey; I absolutely understand that this is not the case for other people, and I don't want to minimise that. Keep on keeping on, sober fam.


	6. One Year

The mid-morning light trickled in through the window, colouring the room a cold hue despite the heat radiating from the space heater. It had been another long Alberta winter, and for the first time since she was little more than a child, Wynonna had found herself without her liquor-jacket to keep warm. Waverly had raided her Tobermory-spending-money jar and brought her sister a big, puffy, all weather coat to replace the short and sexy jackets she’d worn before, but it had still been brutal. 

The coat hung now on the hook just inside the back door, over her snow boots that were slowly melting a puddle onto the lino. Wynonna herself sat at the table, enjoying the sensation of warmth creeping back into her muscles. In front of her, a cup of sweet tea steamed; she’d developed a taste for strong, half-stewed tea made with condensed milk and a spoonful of sugar, which made Waverly shake her head and Nicole scrunch her nose in disgust, but if it kept her from the bottle a little longer, they were both willing to accept this new quirk.

She’d made it to 365 days sober. It wasn’t self-depreciating to say that she’d never really thought she could do it. At the thought of those long nights when she’d tossed and turned, trying to sleep without the help of her usual liquid crutch and plagued by memories – by regrets – it was amazing that somehow, she’d endured. The darkness still followed her; the sketchy remembrances of things she’d done when drunk, or the vivid, unavoidable replays of the Revenants she’d put down and the horrifying terrors she’d faced, they still jumped out at her when she least expected them, and made her hands itch for a sip of bourbon. 

But she knew now that there was no such thing as one sip of alcohol for her. She was all or nothing in every facet of her life; it had been foolish to ever think that the demon drink would be different. Wynonna sighed but far from sorrow, it was a sigh filled with content. On the table next to her, her phone screen flickered as the time changed: 10:37.

Yes, life was different. It turned out that without needing a chemical to numb her fizzing brain, she’d found other ways to channel the angry resigned resourcefulness that had already made her the scourge of the Ghost River Triangle. The paranormal didn’t know what had hit it. Nicole had been found grumbling more than once about how quiet it was now that the Earp heir was racing around stamping the shit out of whatever supernatural criminal decided to put so much as a toe out of line as soon as they so much as thought about it. She’d gotten so efficient that she’d been forced to start listening to audiobooks to fill the time in between cases, as the various entities that had made Purgatory interesting decided to try their luck in the next state over. She boxed, twice a week, and ran with Nicole on a Saturday morning, which more often than not ended up in a row. She’d flown to meet her sponsor Sarah just before Christmas, and they’d laughed so loud and cussed so soundly that they were banned from the crazy golf in Vaughan for life. 

Life was good. Her family and her friends, who were more like family anyway, had carried her through the worst of it, more than they knew, and she in turn had held firm for them. There was just one thing missing.

At her elbow, the phone buzzed, lighting up with a text. “Gus McCready: 5 mins away.”

Wynonna’s stomach did a skip. It was a strain not to leap out of the chair, to run to the door and wrench it open, to start down the road to meet Gus’s brand-new jet-black truck. But she didn’t. Instead, she took a breath, and drained her mug. Then, she rose to her feet, checking her appearance in the scrubbed metal of the splash-back behind the stove, and walked into the hall. “Waverly, they’re here!” She called up the stairs, hearing her sister squeal from first floor. 

Casting her eyes at the room to check everything was still neat and tidy, Wynonna nodded, tested for the seventh time that morning that the gun safe was locked, and then, head high and heart hammering, she opened the front door and stepped out into the cool, bright freshness of the new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read, kudos'd and commented on this short little piece, its been a joy to write (I mean, painful at points, but also...a joy). To anyone going sober/living sober/thinking about making that change, you are stronger than you know and I've got more respect for you than you can imagine. DMs open over on Twitter if you're looking for sober support, @tomboyadventure.

**Author's Note:**

> To celebrate my upcoming 2 years sober, I’ve decided to write this little story about Wynonna going sober. It’s not going to be as angsty after this chapter, fear not!


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